Disturbed Spirits at Inveraray
Father had discovered what I had judged to be a pretty lame excuse not to attend the séance. He told mother he had to take a run across to Ruthin Castle to see Colonel Carter-Brown about carburetors and things.
The family retainer, Beecham, and his wife Symphony and also one of the gardeners and his wife had been invited to this séance as mother was having difficulty finding numbers. I was about to write ‘there had been some pressure applied’.
Beecham had been the family retainer as long as I can remember. I once inquired of father about Beecham’s connection with the Campbell family and he replied Beecham’s father had been employed at Inveraray for many years and lived in the grace and favour residence before his son Beecham was born.
The grace and favour property was passed onto Beecham and was situated in the village but once Beecham officially retired he and his wife moved to the gatehouse in deference to his age, as there was less land to care for and he was put in charge of the stables to keep his interest afloat, and a young lad, Andrew, was employed as his assistant.
At this point, it would be opportune to explain that our medium for these séances was a Mrs Dalrymple who lived next to the gatehouse; well actually down the road a bit from the gatehouse. Tamsin always referred to Mrs Dalrymple as the ‘mad lady’. Somewhat discourteous I feel but nevertheless true.
Gentle readers, I have some misgivings about Mrs Dalrymple’s séances and the evoking of spirits in Inveraray Castle. Having a long history, it could be fraught with many unforeseen dangers. It has been the seat of the Dukes of Argyll, chiefs of Clan Campbell, since the 18th century.
Incidentally, the foundation stone for the castle was laid down in 1746 and I have no doubt there are sleeping spirits, souls and ghosts living with us within its walls and I prefer they remain sleeping. I do not really want Mrs Dalrymple waking them up and I did not hesitate to tell father so just before he left for Ruthin Castle.
Mrs Dalrymple arrived at around 7 pm. No crystal balls here, no tarot cards. This was the real thing - a chance to talk to the dead or perhaps the living dead. Looking around the table there were 10 of us.
I, mother, Tamsin, Phaedra, Mr and Mrs Beecham, the gardener Mr Potter and his wife who sat next to Mrs Dalrymple then the kitchen supervisor, Mrs Pasta, an Italian lady. We three girls from Denham College really helped swell the numbers.
It was the first séance I had attended, as it was for Phaedra and Tamsin. Mrs Pasta was an old hand at this and was known in the district as being somewhat of an eccentric as well as a psychic herself which explains her friendship with Mrs Dalrymple.
We took our places around the table. Mrs Dalrymple briefly explained the etiquette of séances and asked that we all join hands.
She raised her head to the ceiling, closed her eyes and said “We are gathered here this evening to attempt to make contact with our dear departed loved ones and hope to put to rest the spirits and lost souls who wander the long corridors of the Inveraray Castle”.
There was a long pause. She eventually spoke, “Are you there?” I thought perhaps she might elicit a name in case there might be more than one resident spirit. There has been plenty of time for quite a number of spirits and wraiths to have made their home in the castle.
She repeated “Are you there?” She paused “give us a sign”.
Nothing!
Perhaps the ghosts, spirits or souls were really asleep.
Mrs Dalrymple called in the reinforcements. “Mrs Pasta would you like to try and summon our spirit friends?”
Mrs Pasta took over. “Don’t break the circle people”.
Pausing she continued “Who is there, please? We wish to make contact. Give us a sign”.
She repeated the request; there was a heavy thud from beneath the table. It was heavy enough to physically move the table.
“ER YUK” I froze. There was a sharp intake of breath from Tamsin.
Hurriedly Mrs Pasta said “Girls don’t break the circle. Quiet now; someone is trying to make contact”.
We gingerly peered beneath the tablecloth.
Relieved I whispered to Tamsin, “It’s only Mr Winston. How long has he been sleeping there?”
Phaedra whispered, “Does it matter? How did he get in?”
Mr Winston was our golden retriever; the Japanese tourists make a real fuss of him.
Tamsin whispered “who named him Mr Winston?”
I whispered “I did”.
She whispered again “That’s a stupid name”.
I replied indignantly “I was only eight”.
Irritated Mrs Pasta exclaimed “Girls can you please stop whispering. Bridgette who is under the table?”
Lowering my voice I replied “it’s Mr Winston”.
“I have never heard of such a thing. What is he doing sleeping under the table? Does he sleep there often? Can you ask him to kindly remove himself. Tell him we are in the middle of a séance here”.
“Mr Winston is a dog miss”.
“Bridgette, you can bad mouth him as much as you like but whatever your personal opinion might be of this Winston person it does not concern me. He is ruining my séance. I ask again would you kindly ask him to remove himself. Some basic respect for Mr Winston would also not go astray either”.
“But he IS a dog Mrs Pasta, like a REAL dog”.
There was a short intermission while Mr Winston was removed and the séance recommenced.
Mrs Dalrymple again took control. “Let us please concentrate now, this going nowhere”.
“Betty, would you like to contact your sister Emily who recently passed away?”
“Yes that would be nice” replied Betty.
“Right everybody close the circle. Let us really concentrate this time”.
The group settled. There was a pause when Mrs Dalrymple asked again “Emily are you there? Your sister Betty wants to make contact; a sign please”.
There was another pause, then a distinct cough was heard. Was it a signal from the other side?
“Betty I think we have made contact.” Excited, she tightly clutched Betty’s hand.
“Emily have you a message for your sister?”
This was followed by another cough. Mrs Dalrymple waited for further communication.
There was another rather throaty cough, followed by a knock on the door.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, how can I concentrate? Someone please answer the door”.
I answered the knock on the door. It was a message relayed by a cleaning lady from father.
She looked terrible. She sneezed, wiped her nose, composed herself and said “Lord Campbell asked me to inform you that he is running a little late and has left his mobile phone on the table in the study”.
Having delivered the dispatch she left with a hankie in front of face coughing heavily and noisily blowing her nose.
It was an exasperated Mrs Dalrymple that spoke next. “Lady Campbell, frankly I suggest there is little or no point in continuing this séance. Perhaps we can try another time”.
“Yes good idea, perhaps another time” agreed mother. I do apologize Mrs Dalrymple and to you also Mrs Pasta.
We left the spirits sleeping…… for the time being, that is. I guess it is back to bridge parties.
